


Bittersweet

by Auriette



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Derek Hale is a Failwolf, Forced Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mates, Minor Character Death, Murder Husbands, One Shot, Peter/Stiles - Freeform, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Scott McCall is a Bad Friend, Scott is a Bad Friend, Steter - Freeform, Steter Week 2017, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, forced mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 22:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auriette/pseuds/Auriette
Summary: It had happened so fast. One moment they were stood face to face: Peter taunting him about the bite; holding Stiles wrist in his hand and brushing his sharp teeth against his pulse point. The next moment he had Stiles pressed head first against the side of a car his breath hot and heavy against Stiles’ neck.





	Bittersweet

It had happened so fast. One moment they were stood face to face: Peter taunting him about the bite; holding Stiles wrist in his hand and brushing his sharp teeth against his pulse point. The next moment he had Stiles pressed head first against the side of a car his breath hot and heavy against Stiles’ neck.  
Peter pressed his own body against the teenager’s back. How good it felt to be so close to another person again. It had been years since he was allowed such a intimacy. He could feel his own blood rushing through his body, he could feel it going deeper and deeper, he could feel it making him hard.  
He pressed himself against the other, letting his hips roll and thrust against the firm ass in front of him while his hands touched the warm and shivering skin under Stiles’ shirt where it had come loose from being tucked in his pants. He let his fingers wander deeper, let them play with the waistband of Stiles’ pants, digging slowly between the space of cloth and skin. All protest that came from the younger fell on deaf ears. He could wriggle and shout as much as he liked and all it did was turn Peter more and more on. He was fully lost in his haze of need.  
In feeling the warm and youthful skin, skin nobody else had touched before. His fingers digging into it, leaving marks that would turn blue and green after minutes. It would take days for them to fade, days in which it was visible to the outside that they belong together. That they shared a bond, so strong, it went through skin and blood to leave marks like these.

Peter roared at the thrill of the moment. Roared like the wolf he was inside, hidden behind that mask of humanness. Unseen by most of people but not this boy in front of him who did not fear the beast he was. Who would appreciate him nonetheless. Not this boy, who's button was now coming undone by his claws, whose zipper was being pulled down by unhuman fingers revealing the young boys Superman boxers underneath his too wide pants.

Careful, almost sinfully slow, Peter let his claws scratch over Stiles happy tail. Making the hairs stand up over and over again, bathing in the smell of adrenaline that was rushing through Stiles blood the further down his butterfly touches went. Down to the place where his happy tail mixed with his pubic hair until you could no longer tell one from the other.  
The smell was intoxicating. Peter was swimming in it, swimming in the boys panic, the adrenaline, the restless heartbeat that would someday break his ribs in two. Swimming in the salt of his tears and the rusty taste of blood, swimming in untouched skin and his own pure lust.

He could no longer hold back, his own length hard and painfully throbbing in his cage of tight clothes he was wearing. He needed every barrier gone, gone so fast he could only rip the clothes in shreds that parted them.

He stood, red and swollen, he up against Stiles pale skin. Veins pulsing with blood and lust making him buzz from the inside out. Almost there, he thought. Almost.

Reaching around Stiles waist, Peter pulled them closer together again. Not letting enough room for Stiles to do anything other than follow Peters pull. Being held down by his strength, being refused his freedom and free will. Being forced to feel pleasure, pleasure he never thought he would feel like this, as Peters warm hand wrapped itself around him.

With one hand he was holding the shaking body in place, while the other was firmly wrapped around the hardening length, tugging and pulling it in the same rhythm his hips were thrusting. What a delight it was to feel the soft skin getting hard by his touch. The gift of youth, he thought as his grip tightened around it, enjoying the sound Stiles made in his distress. It wouldn’t be long now, he could feel it in his blood, could smell it over the shame and hurt Stiles was bathing in. For a moment he stopped his movement, loosened the grip of his hand to let the warm skin glide out of it before he took half a step back, his eyes never leaving the shaking boy in front of him. He took it all in. The goosebumps on cold white skin, the shaking muscles underneath it. The eyes pressed together, tears slipping out through the long dark lashes. His lips bitten from teeth, bloody and red. Pants and a rest of his boxers mingled between legs, hiding the socks and shoes. This was all his. Every inch of the body in front of him belonged to him now. He would never let another touch what was his. He would claim him, would be his Alpha. Would fill him with his hot seed, mark his skin over and over again until he reeked of him. Until everybody who came near him would know to whom he belonged from now on.  
It took him only a moment, a moment that felt like a lifetime, to step back and wet himself with his spit before parting the soft firm cheeks to enter what was his. To push hard, to bury himself deep. To make his boy scream and squirm, to let the color of Stiles hands fade to an ashy white now that he was free and falling towards the car again, his hands reaching for the hood, holding himself upright, fingers cramping down on the cold grey metal. Oh how good it felt to be buried this deep into another person. How much he had missed this feeling of warmth or tightness? All these years stuck in his head, imagination being his only friend. It never came close to this feeling; To the feeling of balls tightening; to the erratic movements of his hips, pushing and pushing deeper until all stood still. His legs shaking, his teeth buried so deep into Stiles shoulder he was sure he had hit some bone. Blood was filling his mouth, dripping over his lips and chin- But he couldn’t let go.  
He was still spilling his seed, hot and sticky all inside the young body.

And then it hit him. As the metallic taste of blood turned sweet. As the smell of Stiles tears and sweat turned from sour and sharp to roses and burned sugar.  
Stiles body hit the ground and he laid there in a broken heap as if tossed away after being used. And wasn’t that what he had done? It hit him again and again with such a force he stumbled a few feet away. Hands in his hair, eyes wide and mouth open. He had ruined everything. Everything that they could have had. How would Stiles be able to ever forgive him? How could he do this to his… mate?  
-  
It’s been days now but he still could feel him. Could feel his phantom fingers touching his cold skin; biting through it until teeth hit bone; Could feel the warm blood slowly running down his shoulder- The stinging of each pointy hole that marked it for hours after.  
It never left him. He woke up on the cold surface of the parking lot. That, he could remember clearly. Colors bright as daylight were hurting his stinging eyes.  
He was alone.  
Left like an old useless toy.  
Forgotten after all this time.  
Dirty and disgusting.  
He could still feel it. It was tugging at his heart and stomach. It was making his knees weak and his insides churn until he was sick of himself again and again and again.  
It would never end.  
It’s been days now. How many days he couldn’t tell. It took all his willpower to keep in control. To not switch into what that monster made him. To smile and pretend everything was alright. Days blurred together. Lydia was still in hospital. He kept himself occupied, visiting her, talking to her but his thoughts never met the girl in front of him. He was worried, but he could smell she was alright.  
He didn’t tell Scott. How could he? How could he ever let the words slip over his lips? He was the very thing Scott despised the most.  
They met with Derek after Lydia was found. She was a banshee now. Nobody knew what that meant. Not for her. Not for them. They talked, standing in a half circle in the preserve. How he got here, he couldn’t tell. His body felt weird. Tense, wired. He was exhausted but full of restless energy. It felt like small waves of electricity were running through his veins, making his skin too tight.  
Scott and Derek were talking, he stood besides his friend, trying to follow their words but ended up drifting far away. This was the first time he was out in the open again. It was almost the full moon. He could feel it. He could feel it’s whisper in his bones. It had a sweet, sweet song, only being sung to him, and it made him sick; Made him want to curl in on himself; Hide from the world and never surface again.

The moment the wind picked up Derek was right in his face. Stiles stumbled away but was being held down by the other wolf. Sharp fingernails that were no longer human digging in his arms, preventing him from running. His heart was racing, panic made his blood turn to ice, running through his veins freezing his body into a statue of himself unable to move, to breath, to say a word.  
“How long?” spit Derek in his face as Scott came to his rescue. “How long since you were bitten?” Derek shook him, making his teeth chatter but no words were able to leave his tight throat.  
“Bitten?” Scott's voice sounded almost like he was underwater. His face once showing confusion and anger was slowly changing. Stiles could see how he put the pieces together. Peter being the only alpha around. Stiles being a werewolf now. “You let him bite you? After everything he did to me?!” Scott was furious. As mad at Stiles as he never was before. And it broke his heart but he couldn’t tell. Couldn’t make his mind stop spinning. Spinning in circles around the night. Of Peter's hands touching him. Of the cold air hitting his no longer covered legs. Of the pain, the disgusting shame. Hearing Scott’s words only drove the last bit of ice through his heart he needed for it to break completely.

Breaking free of Derek's hold, he took off. Turned into the very thing Scott hated so much. Turned into the very thing, that had ruined his life. No longer a human but no full wolf either. And as he ran all he could hear were Scott’s words in his mind. “You are no longer my brother."  
He was all alone now.  
-  
The moment he found Stiles the heavy rain had set to a faint drizzle. The air smelled of storm and wet earth mixed with the distance smell of rotten bodies. Peter walked past the gray headstones - almost looking black every time a rain heavy cloud made its way in front of the moon, talking away its silvery light.  
His heart felt heavy seeing the boy like this. How small his shaking form was compared to the stones he was lying on front of. “I don’t know what to do, Mommy…” he whispered over and over again. It broke Peter's heart in two. He had done this. He had broken this joyful boy; Had made him into a shapeless heap in front of his mother’s grave.  
Several minutes passed in silence, only the wind and the raising and falling sobs of the boy in front of him breaking it, before Peter could bring himself to walk towards Stiles.

Stiles flinched away at his touch, creating a distance between their body's, heart racing as if it was meant to break his ribs to free itself. “Don't,” Peter said, reaching out to keep the boy in place. His fingers digging into the slim arm where Derek had held him a few hours before. The marks his claws made long healed. Leaving only shredded fabric in its wake.  
Tears spilled over the thin edge of Stiles eyes, running over his blotchy red cheeks like raindrops on a windshield. He was unable to hold them back, too much terror was going through his body being so close to the monster that once had hurt him the most. “Please...” he whispered tiredly, all energy leaving his cold and shivering body.  
But Peter held onto him, refused to let him go now that he was this close. “You took everything, what more can you want?” Stiles asked looking up for the first time.

And what did Peter want? Taking more than he was allowed to, taking it all for himself without asking. Letting his wolf mark and claim what was rightfully his. That is what he wanted. What he could feel like a vibrant hum running through his body, clouding his mind. “Let me make it right again. Let me be the shoulder you cry on, let me be the cover that keeps you dry from rain, let me be the warmth you seek on a cold day. Let me be your mate.” he whispered, pulling Stiles towards him. And to his surprise, Stiles let him. Let himself rest against a warm chest. Let himself be covered by arms and hot breath.  
-  
He closed his eyes. Taking one deep breath after another. This wasn't right and he knew it. He should run, run away from this monster. Instead he sat on his knees, half covered from the up-taking rain, slowly being cooed into a sleepy mindless state. This was nice, he thought. Or it would have been, if there wasn't that bottomless pit where his heart was once. What his mother might think about him now? Leaning onto this monster’s body, letting him touch him without fighting back? She would despise him like Scott did. Would hate him, like his best friend hated him now. But his mother was dead. Only a body whose flesh been eaten by maggots directly from its bones. She wasn't here with him, she wasn't the one building a tent out of emotions and skin above his head for him to rest his tired body under. She had left him; Left him like Scott did- Broken and full of hate. Never would he be loved again; Not by her and not by him.

The days went on and Peter made a habit out of silently following him whenever he left the house. And Stiles let him. He tried to talk him out of it once but failed. Failed like he did most of his life now as it seemed. So he let him tag along, let him be there in the corner of every street. Let him lurk in the shadows of the parking lot after Lacrosse practice. Let him stay under the tree in front of his house. But never let him cross that border he called his home. If there was a door to be closed, Peter was not welcome.

Besides Peter following his every step he was mostly alone. His dad was around somewhere, sometimes talking to him, sometimes silently drinking away his stress and sorrow and Stiles let him. Let him have this old and last sanctuary of sanity he got left for himself.

As the days turned to weeks the whispering behind his back became harsh words to his face. It wasn't Scott alone. Word got around fast in such a small school and people took them to heart. He was called a bitch, a sugar baby. He was shoved against lockers, his own was demolished several times, insults written on it in all colors. But he took it all, took it and stored it away deep down in him. It was never the place nor the time to fight back, to release the monster in him he still tried to denial. If he kept it hidden long enough, maybe they would forget and let him be himself again. Would see him for what he really was, human and once their friend.

But the day never came.

He hadn't planned this to happen. But the words had gotten to his head. It was the last straw when Scott told him how he overheard Peter and Derek talking. How he knew that Peter fucked him back in the parking garage before he bit him. How they were mates Mates, he had said with such a disgust, spit was following his words and hitting the ground that lay between them.  
“Were you that desperate to lose your virginity? Or was it all about becoming a werewolf?” Scott had said, walking towards Stiles with such hate in his eyes that Stiles wasn't able recognize his best friend anymore. And Scott didn't stop there. Each step he took he would call him Peter's pet, his whore. They were friends. Best friends. Brothers. And now he was reduced to the very thing he wasn't. As if he was the one begging for it. As if he had had a choice. But Scott didn't listen. Didn't want to listen. Stiles tried to tell him over and over again to no avail.  
After all he had him cornered, had made up his mind of Stiles betrayal and wouldn't back down from it anytime soon. Stiles had it coming, he knew it. Knew it like how he knew the sun was going up in the morning or how his Dad would come home every night after his shift.

Scott had waited until they were alone in the locker room after practice. Stiles was sore and tired. His body was healing fast but it did hurt still being shoved to the ground and hit with the ball several times. Accidents, they said. But he knew better. He heard the words they spoke after getting him down on his knees again. How they teased him, what they called him. A bitch boy. Nothing more than what a dollar gets you. A cock warmer. And the rage grew. It grew so big he thought he would not be able to keep it in this time. But he made it to the end. Made it to the locker room without breaking the word he gave himself. Never to let the beast out again. Never become the monster himself. But as everybody had left the too hot, too steamy room things had changed. He would give Scott what he wanted, what he came for. This time he wouldn't go down without a fight.

The fight was short. All claws and teeth, ripped skin and blood, shouts and grunts. And in the end, only one was still moving.  
He sat on the slippery tiles, in the middle of blood mixing with water and bodywash. Every inch of his body felt bruised and sore but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Scott's body lay motionless a few feet away. Not talking. Not breathing. Not living. It was over. Stiles had ended it.  
All he got left were bloody claws and fangs reaching over the lip of his mouth. He couldn't change back. It would make this real, make him human again and he couldn't let himself be human ever again. He killed his best friend. His brother. He was a killer, a monster now. He had no right to be human.

He didn't hear the door open, was too focused on the dead body in front of him to hear Peter enter the locker room and follow him into the shower. But here he was now, Peter. In front of him. Reaching out for him. Taking him into his arms. Letting his warm fingers slip over his wet back. Rubbing his sore muscles and whispering words into his numb mind until his humanness came back. Until the first tears started falling and until they stopped altogether and the numbness once returned.  
It was Peter who carried him, dressed him and took care of Scott's body. And it was Peter who drove the car out of town, with him on the passenger seat looking out the window. The houses vanished and the trees began. His heart was heavy but his mind was numb. He was alone now. Fully alone. The wind picked up and raindrops ran like teardrops over the windshield. Tears that would be shed for Scott, for Stiles who was lost but still alive.

The horizon came closer, the street taking its turn and Peter following it nonetheless. As nights turned into days, and days into nights Stiles finally got rid of his phone and with that the last bit of his old life. It was over now. Peter had taken it all that day. Had taken him away from his family and would keep him forever. He changed him. Had filled him with his bad seed, corrupted him from the inside. Made him into a monster. He was no good to anybody now besides that beast that shared the warm bed next to him.  
Maybe Peter was meant for him after all. Maybe he knew from the start that they shared the same dark spot on their soul. Maybe he could see what Stiles was too afraid to look at.  
Was it that what had driven the wolf in him to claim his body?  
Did he feel the urge to be near his mate? To connect, to become one?  
Mates, he thought as he laid in between Peter's arms. He felt warm and safe for the first time in so long.  
Maybe it was his destiny to be here in the end.


End file.
